


Sad Later

by josiepug



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cute, F/M, Fluff, Foreshadowing, Pre-Series, first fic for this ship, impending tragedy, she isn't really an OC but kind of?, things were sad even before they got sad on this show, while it lasted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 01:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13330392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josiepug/pseuds/josiepug
Summary: Once, long ago, a young man and a young woman met under an arch and shared their dreams.





	Sad Later

**Author's Note:**

> The Peaky Blinders muse strikes again. I just love this world and these characters so much. Also, writing pre-war Tommy is hard, and I think the happier he gets the sadder I get? Rock bottom is such a long, long fall from here. 
> 
> And yet, I almost kept this happy. Almost. Sorry about that.

"Every time you see them happy you remember how sad they're going to be. And it breaks your heart. Because what's the point in them being happy now if they're going to be sad later. The answer is, of course, because they are going to be sad later." 

\- The Eleventh Doctor 

Greta had been waiting under the archway for over an hour. She stretched one leg out, then the other, trying to bring back some feeling. The cold air bit through her thin stockings. She coughed lightly into her handkerchief.

She should go home. Her family would be asking awkward questions again, and she was wasting valuable time that she could have spent studying. Or reading Marx. Or doing a million things that weren’t waiting out in the cold for Tommy Shelby. 

She didn’t move.

More time passed. She would bring a book next time. She coughed again. It had been too long. She really should go home. She would this time. She bent down to pick up her purse, and as she did so—

“Oh thank God you’re still here. I’m so sorry.” Tommy Shelby was jogging towards her down the lane, small and rake thin with the brightest eyes she’d ever seen. She dropped her purse, and reached out, pulling him in for a kiss. He moaned when she bit down on his protruding lower lip.

She pulled back, but not before pressing a hand against his trousers.

“Well, you seem happy enough to see me now. What took you so long? It’s rude to leave a girl waiting, you know.” This was a game they played, chastising the other for being late to their little meetings, when they both knew perfectly well that it was unavoidable. A side effect of hiding from their families, a joke to make fun of just how unstable their position was.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Jurossi, but I was taking care of Finn, and Arthur was late getting back.”

Greta pulled back a little more, looking him in the eyes. As much as she wanted to slam him against this pillar and forget the world right now, she was well aware that she was the only person he told any of this to. The other part would wait. “What about the rest of them?” She prompted when he trailed off.

He shot her a grateful look. “Ah, you know. Polly is on a vacation inside a bottle at the moment, and John is learning where to put his cock. Very studiously, I hear.” He smiled at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back. No mention of his father. So he was gone for now. Greta couldn’t say she was eager for him to come back, even if it did mean she had to wait longer for Tommy to free himself from his family. Not that it wasn’t partially Tommy’s fault anyway.

“Arthur needs to take more responsibility for the family, Tommy. It isn’t your job to take care of Finn. Is he working on the business, or…”

“You’re so delicate, calling it the business. Bookmaking is what we Shelby’s do, but you won’t even say it.” From anyone else, it might have been mocking, but not from him. He was too warm for that. He ruffled her hair a little. “How did I ever get my hands on such a posh girl, eh? The business, Jesus Christ. Anyways, I don’t care either way. Arthur’s the oldest. That’s his affair. Besides, here’s how it’s going to be. If business goes south, or if there really is a war coming, or the communists start a revolution, or whatever else, you know what we’ll do? We’ll grab one of the horses from the stables, just you and me, and we’ll ride off into the sunset. What do you think about that?”

Greta thought that Tommy had always been a great storyteller. That he was beautiful when he dreamed up the future, that she could almost see the worlds forming behind those blue depths. His imagination was so vivid, his force of will so strong. Looking into his eyes, she could believe every word. She pushed back gently, wondering idly what it would really take to wash those dreams from his. Certainly nothing she could do. She played along, anyway.

“And won’t our families come looking for us, if we just ride away?”

“Hmmm.” He pressed up against her and she could feel the hum vibrating through her body. “Yours might be a bit of a problem, I’ll admit. Damn Italians all know each other. At least in the cities. But gypsy caravans are a whole different world. We don’t belong to any place or any person. As far as the government is concerned, I was never born. I don’t exist. How would you like to run away with an invisible man, Greta Jurossi?”

She couldn’t stand the temptation any longer and silenced his lips with her own. She did not have to reach too high, and her stiff legs appreciated it. “Mmm. You have awfully warm lips for someone who doesn’t exist.” She moved to the base of his neck, trailing kisses as she went. “And very strong shoulders. And nasty toes from being stepped on by horses.”

“You can’t even see my—ah.” She bit down lightly on his ear. 

“Stop fussing and get to work. I’m bloody cold.” Tommy Shelby did indeed stop fussing, and Greta soon had little cause to feel cold. She supposed maybe that if she’d made love with a man anywhere other than an open archway by the edge of a canal, she might find it uncomfortable and awkward. But she hadn’t, and every hard rock edge bruise and red nettle sting reminded her only that this was where they were safe together. And in that way, it was paradise.

Some time later, Tommy helped her pull her coat back on before she huddled down next to him under the arch. It was too cold to engage in any sort of naked snuggling. That was a summertime activity. At least now there were no flies.

Greta curled into her customary spot underneath his arm and coughed into her handkerchief. All this sneaking around and having fun was tiring business.

“You all right?” He asked when it took too long for her to catch her breath. She nodded. It was only a winter cold.

“I was thinking about what you said. About riding into the sunset,” she said when the fit had passed.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You were thinking about sunsets,” he said flatly.

She blushed. “Not exclusively about sunsets.”

“I should hope not.”

She laughed, burying her head in his chest. “You wouldn’t do it, though. Not really. You wouldn’t leave.”

He ran a hand absently through her hair. “Why the hell not? What does Birmingham hold for me?”

“Exactly. Birmingham’s too small for you. And the open sky’s even smaller. Someday, you’re going to change the world.”

It was his turn to laugh now. He ran a finger along her cheek. “I told you I’d go to a few communist meetings. That’s all. I take care of horses. And so unless they’re about to take over the world…”

“I think there’s a book about that.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” She knew there was a book about it. Jonathan Swift had written it. But Tommy had left school when he was eleven. It was one reason her parents hated him. They were wrong. Greta knew Tommy was smarter than all the University boys put together, and someday they would realise it too. Tommy just hadn’t caught up quite yet, but he was getting there.

“You don’t see the world the way other people do, Tommy.”

“I see that the world is shit.” There was that steely edge that she sometimes heard in his voice, the one that reminded her that she hadn’t grown up on Watery Lane, that those blue eyes had watched their fair share of nightmares too. But he wasn’t getting her point.

“No, everyone sees the shit. You see that, I don’t know, that shit can be shovelled and turned into manure which can feed cows, and now everyone has milk.”

“That’s a terrible comparison.”

“I’m not the one who sees like you. And I’m just saying, I can tell. You’re different.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re in love with me. You couldn’t just pick up any old street urchin. No, it had to be a special one, eh Greta?” 

It sent a thrill up her spine every time he told her he loved her, even when he was making fun of her. She covered it with a sniff. “Actually, I think I’ll just exchange you for one of your brothers. Since you’re nothing special.” She moved to get up, but he pulled her down.

“Now, Greta. Let me just tell you how special you are, and then we can be different together. How about that? Let’s see, you’re the only Italian girl I ever met who taught herself Russian—“

“—You don’t know any other Italians.”

“Hush. You talk to people. People who aren’t like you, and you listen to them. You care about the world, and don’t tell me everyone does that. Also, there’s that one thing you do with your mouth that I’m certain no one has ever—ow!” She had slapped him.

“Coarse little lane boy. Can’t you be nice for one minute?” It was such a spot on impression of one of her stuffy schoolmasters that Tommy broke down laughing. His laughter, as always, was contagious, and that was how they spent the next few minutes, rolling around on the ground, laughing at nothing in particular. It was only when she had nearly recovered, lying on her back looking up at the sky, that she saw how dark it was getting.

“Tommy, I have to go. It’s late.” She forced herself to say, wishing that she could stay out in the cold forever.

“Shit. Yeah. Want to bet there’s no solid food in my house at the moment? Dammit. This was a lot easier when Finn drank milk. Better try to catch the baker before he throws out the old bread.”

“Go, go, win that bread!” She shoved him up, laughing again. When they were together, all their responsibilities were funny. They were always playing at being adults, playing at knowing what they were doing. Tommy smiled back at her, pausing to give her one last kiss before they parted ways, bound for different sides of the Birmingham world.

“Same time next week?”

“Try to be on time, this time. Knock Arthur over the head if you have to.”

“Good idea. I love you.”

“I love you too, Tommy. Good night.”

And just like that he was off, back the way he came. Their lives did not allow for prolonged, soppy goodbyes or indulgent love notes. The entirety of their love was wrapped up under this little archway. Greta stood there a moment longer, soaking in the memories, the smell of water and dirt and sex. She would keep it with her forever, if she could.

Maybe in the spring, their love would expand, would stretch across the streets and find an actual bed. Maybe the fears of war would prove unfounded, and the government would pass better labour laws. Maybe Italians and Gypsies and Jews and Chinese would stop hating each other and realise that they were more similar than different. Maybe the smoke over Birmingham would lift, and the spring would be crisp and cool with a pure blue sky.

But even if none of those things happened, the plants would grow all over their little archway. The weather would warm, and they would stick their feet in the river. Tommy would tell her his dreams, and she would tell her his. In this small way, the world would be better.

She walked out from under the arch in the opposite direction and felt a shiver pass over her. She coughed.

Maybe she was imagining the little spot of red on her handkerchief.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are the engines that propel small fandoms.  
> (I should write fortune cookies.)


End file.
